Vanquished. Part 4

THE SALAMANCA HUNTERS MINUS SKYE; ESTHER AND LESLIE LEITNER.

Holgar sniffed the air and felt his hackles rise. Something was wrong. He had gone to the open-air market in Toledo's main square to take a message to one of Father Juan's contacts and to pick up some groceries for dinner. He had given the note to the fishmonger and then gotten some shrimp.

But as he began to make his way from the white-tented stall, he kept catching the movement of shadows from the corner of his eye. It was broad daylight. It couldn't be Cursed Ones, so who was it?

Holgar tried to look casual, like any other shopper, but knew he stood out. He was very tall, very husky, and very Danish. He had volunteered for the a.s.signment. The chance to get outside had been too good to pa.s.s up. He was going mad sitting around in the monastery. But he was beginning to realize that he had been foolish to go. Father Juan should have sent someone who would blend in better.

He turned a couple of corners, trying to get downwind of whatever was following him. The marketplace itself, though, proved a huge distraction. It was difficult to smell anything over the aromas of meat, fruit, and sweat. But still he had to try. A werewolf's sense of smell was his keenest attribute, and one he relied on heavily.

Another flash of movement. He whipped around, but no one stood out in the busy crowd. Then something threw itself at him.

He ducked. Razor-tipped claws sliced the air just above his head. He dropped to the ground and rolled. But when he looked up, the wolf that had swiped at him was nowhere to be seen.

Holgar swore and stood slowly, warily. He was surrounded by noise and stench, and he couldn't track his a.s.sailant.

A man walked by. As he pa.s.sed, Holgar caught the faintest scent of wolf. Holgar jumped to the side, but from the throng a silver knife flashed, slicing open his shirt and jabbing into his side. Holgar howled in pain, then felt all eyes turn toward him. Although the vampires had made themselves known to the world, the werewolves had not. Panic flared. There were at least two a.s.sailants after him, but if he continued to draw attention with his werewolf howling, the crowd might decide he was a madman who needed to be apprehended.

He turned and hurried in the direction of the monastery as fast as he dared. Once on the road he began to trot, and to pant in pain. Howling, gasping; for helvede-d.a.m.n it-was he going to change? Holgar had yet to transform except on the full moon. He hadn't been old enough, mature enough to change at will. But the tingling sensation that signaled the change gathered in his wound.

He could feel the other werewolves following him, and now he could smell them too. Three separate scents. He loped, scanning the hillside for a place to make a stand or ambush them.

A bend in the road offered him the only opportunity he was likely to get. Heart racing, he crouched behind an oleander bush and waited.

The man with the knife came first. He was bushy-headed, blond, and muscular, like him. Likely a Dane. Holgar swept the man's feet out from under him, leaped on top of him, and wrenched away his knife. Holgar hissed as the silver cut his palm.

"What do you want?" Holgar yelled at him in Danish.

"To kill you, traitor!" The man struggled to throw him off.

"I'm not a traitor," Holgar said, displaying aggression by lowering his head and baring his teeth. The tingling sensation was suddenly overwhelmed by incredible pain. Silver poisoning?

"You kill your own kind," the man insisted, raising his chin defiantly as he glared into Holgar's blue eyes.

"I defended myself," Holgar said, mind racing. The man wasn't a member of Holgar's pack back in Denmark, so why did he care?

Something slammed hard against Holgar's back, throwing him to the ground. The knife skidded out of his hand, and ma.s.sive jaws fastened onto his shoulder, missing his throat as he twisted.

Adrenaline racing through his body, Holgar threw off the wolf; then he reached for the knife. His fingers grasped it and he spun around, just in time to plunge it into the heart of the werewolf. The wolf fell on top of him with a scream. A roar of shock escaped Holgar. It was Nils Hansen, someone he'd been friends with since they were cubs.

"Nils," he whispered, "what were you doing?"

Holgar couldn't wait for an answer. The silver was tainting his blood, pushing through his veins and arteries. It wouldn't kill him, but it could incapacitate him, and Jenn had said that they were leaving the monastery that night. He had to get help.

Just inside the monastery's arched walls, Father Juan intercepted Holgar and quickly ushered him into a small room where everyone was already gathered. Antonio sat apart. The vampire lifted his head up as Holgar entered, and Jenn ran to Holgar's side.

"What happened?" Jenn asked.

Holgar grimaced at his b.l.o.o.d.y shirt, then made a face at Jenn. "Got stabbed. Not badly, though."

"Careful, wolfie. Sucker might think you're dinner," Jamie said.

Holgar had a mind to make Jamie dinner. He shook himself of the thought.

"I was attacked by three werewolves. It was revenge for the wolves I killed in the battle at Salamanca."

"They attacked you in broad daylight?" Jenn asked, as Father Juan pulled the shirt away from the wound so that he could examine it. Holgar sucked in his breath, and Jenn touched his hand in sympathy.

"Motivated," Antonio said.

"Sloppy," Jamie drawled.

"They took advantage of the market crowd. I killed one," Holgar said. "The other two took off."

The new girl, Sade, hugged her arms around herself and started rocking. Holgar wished they wouldn't take her with them. She was too fragile. No good in a fight.

"Let's circle back to that in a minute," Jenn said, looking worried. "We're meeting because Greg and Project Crusade have made a new headquarters for themselves in Budapest."

"They've moved out of the U.S.?" Jamie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Apparently," Jenn replied, fussing over Holgar. With a pang he thought of Skye. If she'd been there, she'd perform a healing spell, and chide him for putting himself in danger. "I'd leave too. Solomon's putting Americans into camps."

"Concentration camps," Antonio added, and Father Juan nodded.

"As with World War Two," Father Juan said. "Antonio's war."

"It was h.e.l.l on earth." Antonio's voice lowered. "Hitler tortured those people horribly. Starved them. Ga.s.sed them. The Cursed Ones are just as bad. We must stop them." Then he raised his chin. "I fought in that war, but this war is my war now."

"Por supuesto." Father Juan inclined his head in Antonio's direction. "Forgive my words. Sade," he said gently, "there are some bandages and ointment in a black bag in my room. Could you get them for me?"

Sade stopped rocking and hurried out of the room. So maybe she could be helpful after all.

"Solomon's putting people in camps all over the world," Jamie countered, sliding his glance at Jenn. "Not just your U.S. of A. In case you haven't noticed."

"I noticed," Jenn said. "I only meant-"

"You don't need to explain," Holgar cut in, irritated with Jamie's nitpicking. "You're our leader."

"Alpha b.i.t.c.h," Jamie retorted, and Holgar growled menacingly. "Just kidding," the Irishman added, even though it was obvious that he wasn't.

"We need to find out what the black crosses are up to," Antonio said. "What they know. What they're doing."

"Exactly what I was thinking. We need to send someone to Budapest," Jenn said.

"I'll go," Holgar volunteered. It seemed like the logical choice. "If I'm gone, the werewolves should follow and leave you alone."

Jenn shook her head. "No. Noah should go. Greg's only seen him once, and that was at night."

"I'll do it," Noah said. "It won't be a problem that he's seen me. This time, he won't."

"Good, because that way we can focus on what is a problem," Jenn said, her voice grim.

Jamie lit a cigarette.

Antonio's heart bled for Jenn. He would have given anything to comfort her as a man would comfort the woman he loved. But though Jenn had grown from a naive, self-deprecating girl into a strong woman, he had not changed. He wasn't a man.

As Antonio fretted, Jenn spent the next half hour laying out how they would get Noah to Budapest. They also talked about Holgar's attackers.

Then Jenn brought up Antonio's grandsire: Lucifer, who had sired Sergio. Aurora had called out his name during the battle of Salamanca. Lucifer was truly the Devil, and if they had to go up against him, they would be d.a.m.ned.

Antonio couldn't concentrate. All he could do was stare at the gentle curve of Jenn's lips, the way they shaped each word, and the wisps of her dark auburn hair.

At last the meeting was over. Holgar's eyes were gla.s.sy, and Antonio wondered how badly the stab wound was affecting him. They were all to pack, grab a quick nap, and get some food before leaving the monastery that night. All except for Noah, who would be leaving immediately for Hungary.

As the others filed out, Antonio lingered, staring at Jenn. She loved him, despite what he was. Why couldn't that be enough?

It's not a question of enough, he thought. I have promised myself to someone else. To G.o.d.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't okay. But he needed to say something, anything.

Jenn gave him a pained smile. He reached out to touch her cheek, but caught himself. He could see the blood rise to her cheeks, and desire swept through him.

Then he forced himself to turn. He had barely any control over his dark urges. And he had rededicated himself to the priesthood. She was the woman he loved, a child of G.o.d in need of saving, a savior who could change the world. But only one thing mattered.

She was forbidden fruit.

EPPING FOREST, ENGLAND.

SKYE.

Vampires favored cities, where they could find plenty of warm bodies and sheltering buildings. The majority of them shunned the lonely and isolated places of the world. Which was exactly why witches had sought those places out. After her sister's wedding, Skye's entire coven had gone underground to avoid being caught up in the war against the vampires.

Her family had moved deep into the heart of Epping Forest, where they maintained a tiny cottage previously used only for lunar celebrations and private family rituals. Skye knew that was where they would be, unless something had happened to them.

Skye doggedly made her way through the brush, catching sight of a will-o'-the-wisp-a flicker of light. These flickers were said by some to be the burning coal carried by a minion of Satan as he lured the curious to their doom. In Skye's family's faith, the lights were sent by the G.o.ddess to aid the lost.

"Help me now, Lady," Skye murmured, as she reached a familiar stand of oaks.

One of Skye's cousins lived on the outskirts of the forest. The cottage's sloped roof was visible, and Skye followed a trail that was more memory than a physical landmark, until at last she was standing at the front door.

She stared for a moment at the old planks, her heart skipping a beat, as she wondered if she had come to the wrong place. A simple bra.s.s handle hung where there'd once been a silver door knocker in the shape of the crescent moon.

She squared her shoulders and forced herself to knock anyway. Regardless of who lived there, she was still badly in need of food and water. She prayed that the occupants would be willing to help.

An ultraviolet porch light clicked on. The light wasn't something she could see, but Skye could feel it. The bulb was a relic from the first years after the Cursed Ones went public. People had rushed to buy them, thinking that the UV would harm vampires as the sun would.

They hadn't worked. No one was really sure what the sun's light did. But the more superst.i.tious had hung on to their lights, swearing that the UV kept vampires at bay.

The door opened just a crack, and a blue eye stared out at her. Skye tried to smile, hoping that it would somehow compensate for being streaked with blood.

The door slammed shut.

"Please, I need your-," Skye began.

The chain clinked and the door swung open. Skye's twenty-four-year-old cousin Summer anxiously regarded her. Skye moved to throw her arms around her, but Summer tensed and took a step back.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Blessed be," Skye said, struggling to hide her disappointment at the lack of traditional witchly greeting-of any greeting, for that matter.

"You can't come in," her cousin said, stubbornly setting her jaw.

Skye blinked, fighting to hold back tears. "You can see that I'm hurt."

"From fighting," Summer said. "Am I right?"

Skye looked into her eyes and saw anger there, and fear.

"Escaping," Skye said. "But it wasn't because of-"

"We don't take sides in the conflict, and we don't recognize those who do."

"Then you're lying when you say you're not taking sides," Skye snapped. "Please, just some water-"

Summer slammed the door in her face. Miserable, and worried that she wouldn't be able to make it much farther before she collapsed, Skye took a deep breath and stepped off the porch. She stared into the forest and hoped that her parents would be more understanding, or at least forgiving.

She began to walk. She'd gone only about fifty feet when a sudden sound behind her caused her to turn. Standing there was Summer's husband, Nigel. He held out a gla.s.s of water and a brown sack.

"Thank you," she said, tears welling in her eyes. She took the gla.s.s of water and drank it down, wishing there were more of it. She handed it back, and Nigel gave her the bag. She opened it and saw a few slices of bread and a chunk of Stilton cheese.

"Thank you," she said again, realizing that he hadn't said a word.